


The Life I Chose

by moonmajik



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1844572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmajik/pseuds/moonmajik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young boy arrives at the musketeers barracks with a letter of recommendation and a request to be allowed a chance to train for a commission.  But is all as it seems?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life I Chose

Captain Treville looked across his desk at the boy standing before him. The letter open on the desk declared that this was Leon Joubert, the second son of Nicolas Joubert, a minor nobleman from the southern parts of the country. The boy, for he looked no older than fourteen, did not at all look like Treville’s idea of a second son of the nobility. His clothes did not fit properly; they were too loose all over his body, a practical way of ensuring money was not wasted on clothes for growing boys, but one Treville assumed the nobility did not have to consider. His hair was a mess and looked as though he had cut it himself, which was of course entirely possible. The auburn locks hung just past his chin in a ragged, uneven pattern, as if he had just grabbed chunks of it and sawn it off using a blunt sword. There was no trace of facial hair on his cheeks or chin, his features looked entirely too feminine to support any such growth. His skin was of a complexion that any noble girl would envy and his eyes were large, the green flashing in the candle light as he stared almost defiantly back at the captain. The only part of the boy that betrayed any intent to join the military was the well looked after sword at his waist, and the pistol tucked into it’s holster.

“Leon Joubert.”

“Yes sir.” The boys voice had not yet broken, but his mouth was set in a determined line as he faced the captain of the King’s Guard.

“How old are you boy?”

“Eighteen sir.” Treville narrowed his eyes and was silent for a moment.

“Yes, so it says here.” He bent his head to consult the letter. “You don’t look older than fifteen to me. I wont be responsible for children.”

“I have my birth certificate Captain Treville. My father thought you might not believe him, so he insisted I bring it with me.” He rustled in his pocket and produced a folded piece of paper, which he proceeded to hand to Treville. Up close, Treville realised that the boy’s hand was shaking, the only external sign of the nerves he was feeling at this first meeting. Treville pursed his lips as he examined the certificate. “I know I’m small for my age sir. I was born a twin.” A wry smile flitted onto the boy’s face, lighting his features up. “My sister is even smaller than me.”

“You have to be strong to be a musketeer. You have to be able to fight. Do you think you can boy?”

“I know I can sir.” 

“Hmm.” Treville looked down at the letter of recommendation again, giving away nothing of his thoughts. “We don’t usually take letter’s of recommendation from fathers. I find parents to be either far too critical of their children’s abilities, or far too boasting. I would have preferred a letter from an Uncle. Or a family friend.”

“My father has no family, sir, and my mother’s brothers are all dead. My father is not one to boast about skills that his children do not have, whatever he has written in his letter to you should be a fair assessment of my abilities.” Leon sounded comfortably sure of himself, leading Treville to assume that he knew none of the contents of the letter.

“A fair assessment, you say? Boy, your father declares that you are the finest swordsman in the whole of France.” A rush of red appeared on Leon’s cheeks that would have been endearing in a girl but just made Treville uncomfortable for the lad. He would have taken the blush for embarrassment and shock at the claim if he had not also seen a spark of pride and love in Leon’s eyes. Perhaps the boy did believe his father would never give praise where it wasn’t due. “Well? What say you? Is this a fair assessment of your skill?” Leon paused for just a second, before looking up to meet Treville’s eyes.

“Yes Captain Treville. It is.” Normally, such arrogance would have irritated the captain and the new recruit would have been angrily sent from his presence. He had enough arrogance to deal with from his trained musketeers, men who actually deserved to call themselves the best in the land. But the earnest honesty with which the lad had spoken caught his attention before the irritation had had a chance to set in and he suddenly felt the need to find out if there was any truth to the claim. Forcing him to prove it would have the added bonus of bringing him down a few pegs when it was discovered his claim was false. He stood suddenly.

“Then you will not mind proving it to me.” He said as he stepped from behind his desk and gestured to the door.

“Now?” There was a sudden slip in his composure as Captain Treville walked past him and ushered him through the door. “Um.. Yes sir.” He found he had no choice as he was swept along the corridor to the stairs leading down into the main courtyard that acted as a mess hall, training grounds and social gathering place for the musketeers. Small groups of men could be seen, drinking and eating around the yard, all dressed in the dark uniforms of the musketeers, wide brimmed hats on their heads, and beards trimmed impeccably. The atmosphere was amicable; all the men obviously knew each other and regarded each other with at least a form of respect. At the foot of the stairs, two dark haired men sparred with each other and leaning on the stairs railing two others watched. One of the watchers occasionally called out instruction to the younger of the two sparring, commanding him to watch his footwork and berating him for his stance.

“Aramis, put some effort into it.” He scowled. “He is never going to learn if you keep going easy on him.” The bearded man grinned over at the scowling man, ducking under a sword swing from his partner.

“I notice that you’re leaving all the strenuous work to me today.” He turned back to his assault on the boy with renewed vigor, quickly beating him back a few steps and forcing him to dodge a thrust.

“Well you should have arrived on time this morning.” The retort came back fast and the dark skinned man also standing on the stairs let out a loud laugh. Before the fighter could reply, Captain Treville stepped forward. Both men on the stairs stood a little straighter, and greeted their Captain with respect. The man called Aramis took one last lunge at his training partner, who dodged out the way again and then over balanced, which caused Aramis to let out a whoop of laughter as he held out his hand to pull the annoyed man to his feet.

“Good morning Captain.” He nodded his head as he sheathed his sword, and Treville nodded back, but addressed the man on the stairs. 

“Athos.” The lighter skinned man raised an eyebrow.

“Yes Captain?”

“This is Leon Joubert.” Athos’ eyes flickered from the captain to the boy at his side, his trademark sullen scowl on his face. “He claims to be the finest swordsman in the whole of France.” The scowl on Athos’ face changed to something almost like curiosity as he regarded Leon with a little more interest than a passing glance. Clearly unimpressed by the boy’s physical appearance, he turned back to Treville, the question evident in his face. “Since he claims to be such a master of the art,” the captain tried to keep most of the mocking tone from his voice but was unable to void it all, “I thought he should prove it by fighting the man I consider to be the finest swordsman in France.” Treville provoking new candidates to prove their claimed skills before considering them for musketeer training was nothing new and Athos nodded once, both accepting the praise his captain had placed upon him and the challenge in one motion. Usually even those new candidates with some skill with the blade found they could not hope to compete with a trained musketeer in a fight, and the battles were over as quickly as they had begun. As the captain pushed Leon forward, Athos drew his sword and jumped down from the stairs. Aramis and his training partner took his place, Aramis grinning in anticipation of the sport about to take place.

“Who is he? Doesn’t look old enough to be here! Even D’Artagnan looks older than him!” He jostled his friend good naturedly as the young man scowled at him, before turning his attention to the two about to spar.

“Some second son of a minor noble, tucked away in the south of the country.” Treville answered the question. “His father wrote his letter of recommendation, so he is either a hopeless dolt who has been sent away in a last hope that we can make something of him, or he is as good as has been claimed.”

“My money is on the first one.” Porthos muttered as Athos and Leon raised their blades to begin the fight. “He is small enough for Athos to eat for breakfast.” It seemed their friend had heard that remark, as he sent Porthos a look that, for Athos, passed as amused. Leon took advantage of the slight detour in Athos’ attention to rush in for the first attack.

The speed of the young man took Athos by surprise, and although he easily parried the rough attack, he was astonished at the strength behind the blade. The first thing the experienced swordsman noticed, as he studied Leon properly, was that his opponent carried a blade that was too large for him. Assuming that this would make his opponent clumsy, he led the next attack. While Leon travelled backwards under the force of the attack, Athos received the distinct impression that the boy had allowed him to gain the upper hand, and was astonished as he ducked under a swing. Athos only just managed to turn in time to block his next thrust of the sword. The fight seemed to be matched relatively equally. The fighting style of the two were different, Athos had height and weight as an advantage but it had quickly became obvious that Leon was aware of his weaknesses and had had plenty of practice in how to use them to his advantages. 

“I do believe he may just win this.” Captain Treville murmured to Aramis, Porthos and D’Artagnan as they watched the battle unfold with more ferocity as the two fighters showed no sign of either being able to beat the other. Aramis and Porthos glared at the captain with barely disguised disgust that he could even fathom such a thing, both protesting at the same time, pointing out that even if their skill was almost equal, Athos’ stamina would outlast the small noble lad that fought him. The fight had attracted the attention of the rest of the musketeers, and a small crowed had gathered around the pair. Bets were being taken, most of them on Athos as his reputation as a skilled fighter was well known, cheers and jeers rang through the crowd, but neither man heard them. As they swung and thrust and parried each other’s attacks, nothing existed in their little world except the two of them.

Athos was enjoying the challenge of the fight rather more than he had enjoyed anything in a long time. The only man who had come close to matching his skill for a while had been D’Artagnan, when he had charged into the musketeer headquarters and demanded to fight him. That encounter had been somewhat enjoyable, but Athos had soon managed to beat him, taking his weapon from him and trying to send him on his way. Aramis and Porthos had gotten attached to the boy and then he had been an instrumental part of the rescue and somehow, he had become a good friend. His current opponent showed a good deal more understanding of swordplay than D’Artagnan had, and had come damn close to beating him more than a few times already during their duel. Athos felt challenged, and couldn’t help the small smile that slipped onto his face as the fight continued. The boy was skilled and Athos could see that his father had not exaggerated. While there was little strength in his body, the speed that he could reach provided all the weight behind his attacks, and he was flexible and limber in a way that Athos could never hope to be. The too-long sword, that Athos had originally thought would hinder him, seemed to be an extension of his own arm and moved with the same fluid grace that he did. The only weakness that he did not know how to use seemed to be his stamina, and Athos knew that with training, that would no longer be a problem. His musings were disturbed by the clash of their swords meeting above their heads and suddenly he found himself face to face with the boy. His hair fell in his eyes as he strained to keep the sword above his head, his cheekbones sharp and defined in his face. With a shove, Athos pushed him from him, and Leon stumbled backwards, surprised by the move. A cheer went up from the crowd as they watched Leon fall, and Athos step forward to hold his sword at the boy’s chest. As he stepped close, Leon’s legs swiped at his, and he found himself falling too. Quick as a flash, Leon was standing again, his sword pressed gently against Athos’ chest. A brief moment of silence passed and then Athos grinned up at the victor, lifting his arm in a request for aid. Leon reached down and pulled the musketeer up to standing, his sword loose in the other arm.

“You have some skill.” Athos flashed him a rare smile as he gripped his arm. “I haven’t enjoyed a fight as much as I enjoyed that one in a long time. When we fight again the outcome will be different.” Before Leon could reply, Captain Treville stepped up, clapping his hand on Leon’s shoulder. If it wasn’t for Athos’ steady grip on his arm, the young boy might have collapsed underneath the Captain’s congratulations. He was obviously exhausted from the fight, whereas Athos was merely breathing a little harder than normal.

“Well, Master Joubert, you have certainly proven yourself. Who taught you to fight?”

“My brother sir.” Leon gasped out, struggling to talk as he tried to fill his lungs with air to recover. 

“I do believe I shall have to take your letter of recommendation seriously now.” The captain continued, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “Leon Joubert, I accept your application to join the musketeers. Athos, the boy is your responsibility now. See that he is trained properly.” And with that, the captain turned and marched back up the stairs into the cool of his office, leaving Leon and four of his most trusted men standing in the courtyard staring after him.


End file.
